


Rolling Faster

by micehell



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, not a happy-ish story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-03
Updated: 2009-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I would change my direction, and save myself before I drown</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rolling Faster

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Three Days Grace this time, so not Bush, yay me. ;)

He'd lived there before, when he was getting his MS. His place had been in a little Victorian (two narrow rooms wide by three stories tall) that had been converted to apartments. The staircase had been just wide enough for one person, and when he met the guy who'd lived on the second floor on his way up or down, he'd had to back up. That or get pretty intimate, and while John had certainly taken advantage of the freedom that living in San Francisco had given (after four years of the Academy, where he'd had to be careful, so very careful), his downstairs neighbor had been about a gazillion-years-old and continuously mumbling about kids and their long hair every time he saw John, his regulation haircut not withstanding.

Weird neighbors and bad haircuts aside, it had been a great place to live. The apartment had been away from the fishbowl of base life, away from the the expectations of living with his father. More flight time would have been needed to make it perfect, but the upper level degree he'd been working on meant the bump to captain came that much faster, and John had learned early the value of sacrificing a pawn in the beginning of a match to get the end game he wanted.

For all the freedom that he'd found, though, John hadn't really had time to use it often. Old habits had been hard to break, too, and it had usually just been easier to stay home ( _his_ home). After years of living surrounded by beautiful vistas (his father wouldn't have taken anything less) or stark uniformity (the Air Force hadn't been any less picky), it had been its own odd pleasure to look out his tiny window and see the trash overflowing the bin in the backyard, the busker down at the corner whose songs got more explicit as his wine bottle emptied, and the tiny hint of Bridge and Bay he could see peeking out in a gap between the waves of houses that flowed down to the water. Some nights he'd just sit there, barely fitting in the windowseat, his cock in one hand (a slow, easy rhythm), and the pleasure of living a life he had chosen thrumming through him.

~*~

He'd gone back when he was still on medical leave, waiting for the Air Force to decide what they wanted to do with him. He'd heard rumbles and rumors, thunder in the distance, of everything from Leavenworth to Antarctica, but in the white sterile rooms he'd woken up in, with the constant low hum of machinery and false reassurance, it had been too hard to care which one.

John had walked out onto the bridge without any real idea of what he was doing. Just a need to be reminded of better times. Standing in the South Tower, looking down as the water flowed by, he'd felt inconsequential, and had wondered if there would be any impact, besides on the water, if he jumped.

He'd stayed up there for hours, buffeted by the constant winds, his body pressing tight against the sun-warmed rail that vibrated with the gestalt of thousands of pieces of metal striving endlessly for equilibrium.

When John had gotten back to his hotel room, wind-chapped, still resonating with the Bridge's rhythm, he'd had orders waiting for him to report back to the life he'd chosen.

~*~

John lived there now, the Bridge's arcing lines beautifully framed in the window of his new apartment. He'd had the same rooms for years (close to the transporter, close to the control room just in case the transporter failed), but Rodney had pointed out that the old room had only been meant for temporary quarters, with a bed barely big enough for John, forget anyone else, and John had let himself be moved. Had let himself trust in what it implied.

Safety (not just the city's defenses, but Earth's as well). Safety (a proper rank spread, so that he didn't need to be on call all the time). Safety (someone to share his bed with, even if they still couldn't ask or tell).

What he hadn't counted on was the flip side of the coin. Safety (O'Neill and his gene, backup just an Asgaard transport beam away). Safety (plenty of replacements for him now that they weren't exactly in the middle of a hostile galaxy anymore, all of whom would be happy to tow the line if the OIA decided Atlantis shouldn't go back). Safety (Rodney's hand on Jennifer's shoulder, DADT obviously including Don't Do now).

Some nights, in the bigger room Rodney had chosen for him, he looked out at the Bay, the arcing lines of the Bridge. They'd been familiar sights once, but seemed like a fairy tale now. Some nights, in the castle-in-the-air spires of his city, he looked out at an alien world, trying to remind himself of better times. Some nights, dwarfed in the huge bed he hadn't chosen for himself, he held his cock in one hand (slow, easy rhythm), and waited for all the pieces to find equilibrium.

/story


End file.
